"I used to ride," Alex said with a dismissive little wave. She set aside her plate with what remained of her dinner, stomach curdling with anxiety leaving her without much appetite.
Around them, night had fallen, the faintest glow of sun slipping past the horizon. They'd built up a fire and somehow coaxed John to sit with them by the light of it while they cooked dinner.
"She's being modest with you..." Emily insisted. She stood, dusting off her knees as she finished pitching the tent. She glanced over her shoulder at Alex with an expression that seemed to dare her to deny it.
"I used to break horses," she amended, then paused, laughed a little in self-deprecation. "With our son, Ethan." A beat. "Then he died... And I guess I lost my appetite for it. Haven't kept animals in quite awhile." She glanced down at her hands where she was spinning her wedding band around her finger. "Nice to spend some time with a sweet one, like yours," she added, gaze flicking up to meet John's. She offered him a smile – small, but genuine.
Emily commandeered the conversation then, curious about the young man. "What about you?" she asked, "How long have you been out here?" She gestured widely to encompass their surroundings as if the question weren't clear.
"Three years, ma'am," he said, gaze shifting nervously from Alex to Emily and back.
"You don't have to call me ma'am," Emily insisted, "Emily will do the job."
He nodded just the slightest bit, awkward and nervous under the two women's scrutiny.
"You're familiar with the area?" Emily prompted. "Of Gladstone?"
He nodded again, more sure of himself now. "I can tell you where the folks are buried that aren't buried in the cemeteries..."
Emily visibly perked up at that, sensing useful information close at hand. "Doyles? You had any dealings with them?"
He was obviously uncomfortable at that, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly, rather than answer. Which, in and of itself, was answer enough.
"We're looking for our grandson," Alex added, eyes shining with her natural maternal instinct to comfort and nurture. "Our boy's boy."
Emily was a little more gruff, a little less tender. "He's with a man named Killian Doyle. You ever heard of him?"
"No." A nervous pause followed. He shook his head slowly. "But if you're looking in Gladstone, look for a man named Ian Doyle."
"You think he'd help us?" Emily asked, brow raised.
"Help? Maybe... But go careful."
With John's cautionary words ringing in their ears, they set off for Gladstone the next morning. Neither woman spoke as they drove, neither seemed to know what to say even if they had been in a talkative sort of mood. Their earlier argument still hung heavy between them, laden now with uneasiness about the situation into which they were walking.
"There it is," Alex spoke as Emily turned the car down a narrow suburban street. "Yellow house," she added with a nod towards the aforementioned home.
A man stood in the street in front of the house, raking up the leaves that had made their way into the gutter. He was an older man, his hair thinning and grey, and he wore a linen button-up shirt and khaki pants that seemed more suited to summer than late autumn. As the car approached him, he paused in his work, brow rising as they pulled to a stop just short of running him over.
Emily put the car in park, turned off the engine. Neither she nor Alex made any move to exit the vehicle, though.
The man leaned on his rake, cocking his head to scrutinize the two women. He offered what was likely supposed to be a neighbourly grin, but came off as more of a grimace.
"Mr. Doyle?" Alex said, emerging from the car and returning his half-hearted smile.
"Who's asking?"
"Alex Miller," she said. With a gesture towards Emily who had also (reluctantly) exited the car, she added, "And my wife, Emily." She took a few steps closer, while still remaining far enough apart that she could run if necessary. "If you're a Doyle, we're family. After a fashion..."
He laughed a little – and not kindly. "How do you figure that?" He turned to survey Emily, eventually offering her a hand to shake. "Ian Doyle," he introduced himself. "Cousin, are you?"
"Could be," Alex said, "But probably not." She glanced over at Emily, silently begging her to stay silent, knowing from her posture alone that she didn't trust the man as far as she could throw him. "Our daughter-in-law married a Killian Doyle. He's step-dad to our grandson now. That's pretty tangled up, isn't it?"
He nodded, grinning at her in a way Emily immediately disliked. "Family usually is."
"We heard they might've settled here in Gladstone," Emily interrupted.
Redirecting his attention back to her, Alex added, "We thought we'd pay them a visit, see our grandson, Finley. Since we're in the neighbourhood."
Ian raised a brow. "Since you're here?" he questioned. "And since you didn't find them in Forsythe..." His expression dared them to deny it.
Alex laughed like she'd been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. "You heard we were coming?" she said, as if it were a hilarious misunderstanding.
Emily bristled. She didn't trust the man and she certainly didn't like him. Less now that it had become apparent he'd been expecting them...
"I did!" he said with a laugh.
"Are they here or not?" Emily demanded.
Ian ignored her. To Alex, he asked, "Is she always like that? In a big ol' hurry?"
She nodded. "My wife likes to get down to business..."
"Hell of a lot of people like that," Ian mused, "Can't wait to get where they're going. You, though...I think you'd just as soon take your time, enjoy the ride so to speak."
Emily didn't like the way he seemed to be flirting with her wife. She advanced on him, looking prepared for a fight should one become necessary.
He rolled his eyes. "Relax, Emily. I'm just kidding. They're here. Killian's my nephew. They're safe and sound, over at his mom's place." He gestured towards the house. "Why don't you come inside and we'll give the ol' homestead a call..."
